The Man Of The House Poem by Echo WalkerJacobs

Five years has passed
And I am still in cub
365 after 365 has gone
Yet I only have one room
Promises are being broken by this man of my house
He keeps me locked away in a prison
For he’s the master and I’m the slave
The paper he says makes him the man
For marriage is a cage and evil plan

I cannot hold two jobs to make a buck
cannot work longer hours to even move up
cannot beg a ride
cannot talk on the phone
cannot cook unless I’m told
I must always be satisfied with what he provides

Consistently he belittles me
Insults me and takes away my freedom and dignity
Isolate me from people
Just any one….no contact, no privileges
no monthly stipend does he give

yet I’m expected to give him all he demands
as some sick payment for providing to lodging me

every night I lay confused, in a corner asking myself is he my muse?
for if it weren’t for this man in my house,
I could not write I would not doubt?
I am so lucky that he allows me to have these friends
best friends pen and paper book and head.

you see this man of the house he’s hard
I cannot sing, nor dance, nor chant
I must always be a lady a house wife a mom
the woman that every one admires for keeping her man
I wish for once my voice could shout
Get out! Get out! you evil louse.
There is no more wood to eat away, only a thin and fragile minded house.
I wish some one could sweep him out
like dust from my feet I would brush him out
alas only my friends the book the paper my head and the pen
will only know how I can win
I write what I want my hopes to be
I write what I need, and it helps me be free
to cope with the madness that echo’s in my head
for now this man of the house stays
until my friends can plot the ways
and tell me how to sweep him out
unfortunately no matter how you sweep,
you can never get all the dust from under your feet.